


Pumping Blood

by starwarned



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell, Simon Snow & Related Fandoms
Genre: Canon Divergence, Hospitals, M/M, POV Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch, Pining Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch, Post-Watford (Simon Snow), Simon works as a nurse because he cares so much about everyone else
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-14
Updated: 2020-07-14
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:02:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25239688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starwarned/pseuds/starwarned
Summary: Hi hello I know absolutely nothing about hospitals lmao
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch & Simon Snow, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 9
Kudos: 86





	Pumping Blood

**Author's Note:**

> Hi hello I know absolutely nothing about hospitals lmao

**BAZ**

Dev’s face comes slowly into focus as I blink my eyes entirely too rapidly. I flinch back, smacking my head on something hard behind me. 

“Aleister Crowley, you’re not the first thing a person should see after being knocked out,” I snap, rubbing the back of my head. 

He grins like he didn’t even hear what I said. “Good morning, princess.” 

“Fuck off.” 

I sit up a little bit, Dev touching my shoulder just to make sure I don’t fall over. I recognize that I’m in a waiting room of some sort, lying down on two comfy chairs pushed together. I turn back and find out that the hard thing I smacked my head on is a clipboard that Dev assumedly just shoved behind my head until I came to. He is sitting in a chair next to me and I recognize Niall up at the counter, talking to a receptionist. 

My chest tightens when I realize we’re in a hospital. And my head aches so terribly that I can barely turn my head without feeling like I’m going to pass out again. 

“Dev,” I hiss. “Where the hell are we?” 

“Gordon Hospital.”   
  


“Why did you bring me to a hospital?” I demand, still trying to keep my voice down, but I’m about ready to punch Dev and set his head on fire so I can escape without being noticed. 

“Baz, you fell off of a bar and hit your head on a beer tap on the way down.” 

I flinch, the memory of said occasion only partly rushing back to me because I was piss drunk at the time. “I can’t be in the hospital, you idiot.” 

Dev shakes his head. “What are you on about? Don’t you have insurance?”

I sigh heavily and start to lean my head back before remembering the clipboard is in my way. I reach back and grab it before pressing into the chair behind me. “That’s not how this works, Dev,” I say, mostly under my breath. Neither of them know about my _condition_ and I certainly can’t just tell them now. 

“It’ll be fine,” Dev promises.

There’s a slight ringing in my ears and I can’t focus enough to respond to him. I feel like falling asleep. I have to force myself to look at the document on the clipboard that I likely have to fill out. 

Niall comes rushing over to knock at Dev’s shoulder. “How is he?” he asks. 

“ _He_ is fine and can hear you,” I say before Dev can even think about responding. 

“Sorry, Baz,” Niall says, looking sheepish. “How are you feeling? They’re gonna call for you once you’ve filled out your forms and they’ll just check on your head. Quite a fall you had there, mate.” 

I roll my eyes. It’s not Niall’s fault that he’s stupid. “Right,” I mutter. “Thanks.” 

I fill out as much of the form as I can focus on right now (which is only the first couple of questions that seem most pressing), but I figure that’s better than nothing, and I don’t trust Dev or Niall to be literate. 

Niall takes the clipboard to the receptionist because I can’t even fathom standing up right now.

I try and think of a diversion or some other way I could get out of this situation because as soon as somebody tries to listen to my heart or take my blood pressure, I’ll be outed. Hopefully, it’s a Normal so I can convince them it’s some underlying condition and _not vampirism_ , but I’m not putting all my eggs in that basket. On the off chance it’s a mage, I’m fucked. 

“Tyrannus Pitch?” 

I start to sit up, grumbling, “It’s _Grimm_ -Pitch, can’t they read?” Dev and Niall jump up to help me to my feet and while I’m annoyed I have to rely on their help, I am dizzy when I straighten up, and having them there is probably necessary, at least to get my bearings.

Niall lets go of me and Dev walks me up to the door next to the reception desk, one hand on my shoulder, just in case I happen to fall over. But then I see him.

“Snow?” I choke out, my eyes wide. 

There the bastard is in all his golden-curled, tan-skinned, pink-lipped glory. Simon Snow looks just as beautiful as he did all those years ago at Watford. He’s wearing simple blue scrubs that contrast wonderfully with his skin tone and the biggest smile I’ve ever seen is etched on his face. 

“Basilton,” Simon says and I’m suddenly annoyed that he had time to read my sheet and know it was me before we actually came in contact. He had time to prepare himself and I feel like I’ve had the wind knocked out of me just being near him.

I turn my head a little and Dev looks just as shocked as I feel. “Uh, hey, Simon,” he says, making concerned eye contact with me.

“Would you follow me back?” Simon asks, cooly. He holds open the door for me without even waiting for a response. 

“Do you still need me?” Dev asks. 

I shake my head (which I regret as soon as my brain stops rattling around inside my skull) and push Dev’s hand off of my shoulder, following Simon down the hallway, letting the door close behind me. I’m a little dizzy, but I can walk fine enough. 

Simon knows I’m a vampire. He found out while we were in school. I shouldn’t be so nervous, but unfortunately, seeing my adolescent roommate again reminds me that I still want to snog him within an inch of his life. 

I follow Simon for the short walk to a little alcove down the hallway. 

“Take a seat,” Simon says, gesturing to the padded chair. 

I do so, grateful to give my brain a chance to catch up from all the standing and walking that makes my head pound. 

“The receptionist says you probably have a concussion,” Simon says, pulling my attention back to him. He seems awfully nonchalant (and it’s kind of upsetting). “So I’m going to check your eyes for dilation, alright?” 

“Sure.” 

The second that Simon has stepped towards me, I straighten up, my heart pounding in time with my head. He carefully places one hand on my jaw to turn my head to check one of my eyes and I’m hyper-aware of Simon’s legs just barely in between mine, not quite touching but so close. 

“What happened exactly?” He asks me and I can’t tell if it’s an official question or if he’s just attempting to make conversation. 

“I fell.” 

“Right. From where?” 

I sigh and as he switches over to check my other eye, I mumble out the story. “Dev, Niall, and I were at the bar. I was absolutely sloshed and got up on the counter to sing along to a song - I don’t even remember what it was, which is disappointing - but then I fell and whacked my head on a beer tap on the way down. Dev and Niall brought me here.” 

As Simon steps back away from me, I know two things: he’s trying very hard not to laugh at me, and I’m cold when he moves out of my personal space. 

“Ouch,” is all he says. 

I nod. “Yeah.” 

He pulls a stethoscope from the pocket of his scrubs and kneels down in front of me, once again occupying the space between my legs as if he has _no_ consideration for what this is doing to me. I suppose he doesn’t know so how can he care? 

“I’m going to listen to your heartbeat and then take your blood pressure, alright?” 

“Simon, you know my-”

Simon nods and cuts me off. “I know, Baz. Don’t worry. I’ll make up some regular numbers, but I technically have to do this.” 

I’m not scared about him seeing how slow my heart is beating. I’m scared of him realizing it’s beating faster than normal because he’s so close to me. 

He presses the stethoscope to my chest and I do my best not to hold my breath. 

Simon flicks his eyes up to me as he listens to my heartbeat. He laughs a little bit (which is intensely terrifying) but doesn’t pull the stethoscope away. “You know what’s funny?” He asks. “Your heartbeat is normal.” 

I frown a little bit. “Is that a common thing in concussions?” 

Simon shakes his head and laughs again, losing his balance a little bit and gripping my thigh to steady himself. 

I try not to audibly gasp. 

“No,” Simon says, a lot quieter this time. “Your heartbeat is almost a normal, not-undead speed. Why is your heart beating so fast?” 

I feel my eyes widen and my tongue suddenly fills my entire mouth. It’s because I’m around him and I haven’t been able to catch my breath since I looked at him again, and _I know that_ but why should Simon have to?

I attempt a shrug, but I’m sure my eyes betray me because Simon smiles a little bit. 

“What’re you so nervous about?” Simon asks, his tone playful but his goddamn blue raspberry eyes are boring into my soul. 

I feel like my brain is flipping around in my skull and that’s not even because I’m probably concussed. “Nothing,” I breathe, trying to hold onto my composure. 

Simon keeps pushing. “Right, then why is your heart beating twice as fast as it ever has?” he asks, not letting me forget that he’s still got a hand on my thigh by just sliding it up my leg the slightest amount. 

“I, uh-” I breathe out, dropping my eyes down to where Simon has his hand on my leg. My mind is racing and maybe I can blame it on the concussion but I start spilling all my fucking secrets to him. “Fuck a nine-toed troll, Simon, you’re so fucking oblivious.”

Simon is taken aback. “What?” 

“Living with you was torture. Not because I wanted to throw you out of the window all the time-” I cut myself off and finally look back up at him. “Well, I wanted to do that, too. I was in love with you, Snow. I probably still am. My heart’s beating like a fucking human because I can’t be around you without my arteries pumping double time.” 

Simon doesn’t say a word, but his eyes are shocked and shining. 

He kisses me. 

When he does, his stethoscope swings forward from where it’s been rehung around his neck and hits me straight in the throat. I yank back, dropping my head down and coughing. 

Simon immediately smacks a hand to his chest over his stethoscope. “Fuck, I’m so sorry.” 

I don’t say anything and instead, reach up to tug it off of his neck and drop it on the ground next to us. I lean forward and kiss him. 

If I wasn’t concussed, I’d probably be able to focus on this more, but the beer tap did a _number_ on me. 

Simon feels warm against my mouth (but I could have predicted that especially because I have a body temperature several degrees lower than most people), and his nose keeps softly bumping into mine. The kiss itself isn’t even that soft - I feel like I’m breathing in his tongue and lips as he presses them into me like he’s angry. I’m breathing through my nose as well as I can, but the lack of oxygen is making me feel muddled and wobbly. 

I tug my head back. “Sorry,” I whisper. “My skull’s going to roll out of my head.” 

Simon shakes his head. “No, I apologize.” 

I laugh a little, trying to cover up my nervousness at doing this. “Do you go around kissing all of your patients?” 

He dodges my question. “I have to take your blood pressure.” 

That makes my stomach drop into the bottom of my chair. I nod slowly and hold out my arm so Simon can wrap the cuff around my upper arm. We’re both silent as he takes my blood pressure. My heart has at least slowed down, but I still feel like I’m losing any sense of stability that I’ve ever claimed to have. 

Once he pulls the cuff off of me, he types some stuff into the computer and I stay quiet. Although I’m afraid I’ve done something irreparable, it’s good for me to sit and recuperate. 

Simon asks me a couple of questions about what I remember when I fell, his tone extremely professional the entire time. I don’t know how he flipped over so quickly, especially considering that _he_ kissed _me_ first. 

“Are you okay to stand up?” he asks once he has finished putting the information he needed into the computer and onto an extra piece of paper. He also puts the phone number for reception so I can call them in the morning and set up an appointment.

I nod carefully and press on the arms of the chair in order to push myself up, feeling slightly less woozy once I’ve fully straightened up. Simon places a hand carefully on the back of my arm just to give me a stable presence as we walk back out to reception. 

He’s ice-cold. Shut down.

Before I head back to Dev and Niall in the waiting room (which is fully empty besides the two of them), Simon hands me the folded slip of paper with all the information he’d recorded earlier. He turns away from me with an oddly meaningful look and closes the door without another word. 

I try not to completely lose my shit at what just happened as I walk back to Niall and Dev. Simon kissed me. Then I (very quickly) kissed him back. And then…? He suddenly got cold feet and became the world’s most professional nurse? 

“So?” Niall asks. 

I raise my eyebrows. “What?” 

“Do you have a concussion?” 

“Yes, you wanker. I just have to call this number tomorrow and set up an appointment.” I hold up the paper that Simon had given me earlier and with the most recent look at it, I realize there’s writing on the back of it that I hadn’t seen before. 

I check it and Simon has written, _Please meet me after my shift. 11:30. In the back by the Psychological Services offices._

“Niall,” I immediately snap once I’ve finished reading. “What time is it?” 

Niall looks vaguely confused but checks his phone. “11:03. Why?”

“Did you drive here in my car?” I ask. 

Dev looks sheepish when he says, “Yes.” 

“Right. You two take it and just leave it at the bar. I’ll swing by and get it tomorrow.”

“What?” Niall asks. “Where the hell are you going to go?”

I don’t particularly want to tell them I’m going to meet _Simon_ and that either we’re going to kiss more or he’s going to deck me. Dev and Niall were acutely aware of my obsession with Simon in school, but they always equated it with only wanting to destroy him and not also wanting to snog him. 

I pull a lie out of my ass. “Uh, Fiona’s going to come pick me up.” Realistically, I’m hoping that whatever happens, Simon will take me home. If I bully him enough, I know he will. He’s too kind-hearted to leave his old roommate (who he just kissed) in the dust.

I can tell they don’t buy into my lie, but it’s really the best I’ve got. I’m frazzled. 

Niall and Dev leave, only complaining a little bit. Niall makes me promise to text him when I get home. 

I sit in the waiting room for another fifteen minutes until it’s clear that the receptionist is annoyed I’m still there. I send a text to Niall, telling him I just got home (I don’t want him to be suspicious that it’s going to take me at least half an hour to get there), before getting up and carefully walking outside and finding my way to the Psychological Services door. I lean up against the wall and press the back of my head against it. I’m not quite as dizzy and my head has only retained a dull pound, which I can handle. 

My phone has been dead for a while so I can’t even pull it out and distract myself. I also have no idea what time it is. 

I slump down onto the ground at some point, keeping my back pressed up against the wall. I’m starting to lose hope that Simon’s coming. Just as I drop my head into my hands, thinking I’ll maybe just sleep there and hope I don’t get picked up for loitering, I hear Simon’s voice. 

“Baz!” 

I look up and he’s jogging around the corner of the building, curls bouncing around his head with every step. I push myself back up the wall into a standing position. I hold back the smile that threatens to split my cheeks open. 

“Simon,” I breathe. I tuck my hands against the wall behind my back in order to stop myself from grabbing him by the collar of his scrubs and kissing him. 

“Thanks for sticking around,” Simon says as he finally gets up to me. 

“Sure.” I’m trying to come across a lot cooler than I feel. 

Simon runs a hand through his curls. ( _No fair_. I want to do that). “I’m sorry about earlier.” 

I don’t know which part he means. “Sorry for…?” 

He doesn’t answer my question right away, taking a few more steps towards me. “It was irresponsible of me to kiss you while I was working so I freaked out at the idea of someone I work with seeing us. I’d be sacked immediately.” 

I nod, wanting to tilt forward so I can be closer to kissing him, but I withhold. _For now ._

“I’m not sorry for kissing you.” 

I beam. 

“And I don’t think you’re sorry, either, with what you admitted to me earlier,” Simon teases. 

I look away from him, feeling very vulnerable. 

Simon continues. “I feel so unapologetic for kissing you,” he says, taking the last few steps so his chest is centimeters away from mine. “That I’d love to do it again now.” 

I don’t even let him make the first move. I do what I promised myself I’d do before and grab him by the collar, tugging him to my chest and to my mouth. 

Simon kisses like he’s got no inhibitions, immediately pressing his entire body against mine with his hands braced against the wall on either side of my head. He sucks at my bottom lip before tugging away and reaching up to touch my temple. 

“I’d love to snog the air out of you, but you’re definitely concussed.” 

I roll my eyes (which has never _hurt_ until this moment). “Snog the air out of me, anyway. I don’t need it.” 

It turns out I do need it (who could have predicted that?) and I have to stop every few minutes to take deep breaths and let my head settle. We stand outside for at least an hour before Simon drives me home.

“Stay the night,” I whisper against Simon’s mouth as we sit in his car outside my flat. 

“Okay,” Simon whispers back. He kisses me again but then immediately yanks back. “No.” 

“No?” I ask, unable to mask my heartbreak (okay, that’s extreme, but I really want to sleep with him. And I mean have sex with him). 

“No. You have a legitimate concussion, you knob. We can’t have sex.” 

“Is that in the rules? The concussion rules?” 

Simon rolls his eyes. He’s still so close to me so he reaches up and taps my cheek. “Does your head still hurt?” 

I nod reluctantly. 

“Go inside,” he says quietly. “Stay in bed tomorrow. Call the receptionist. And then call me.” 

“I don’t have-” 

“Yes, you do.” He reaches across me to rummage through the glove box and pulls out a pen. “Should I write my number on your forehead or will your hand be enough?” 

I giggle. (This twit makes me _giggle_ ). “Hand is fine, arsehole.” 

Simon writes down his number on the back of my left hand and adds the wonkiest smiley face that I’ve ever seen right after it. 

“Call me,” Simon says again. 

“Okay.” 

“If not, fall on another beer tap and I’ll take your blood pressure again.” 

I nod, smiling. My head aches. My stomach’s in knots.

I call him in the morning before I call the reception desk. Simon is more important. 


End file.
